AN-Just a one shot that's been banging around in my head. Nothing less, nothing more. If I have time and think of anything more to add to this, I will. Rated Teen and up for language.NO BETA. READ AT OWN RISK Thanks for reading. Comment are always appreciated. They are hoarded and kept with all the other shiny things. Don't make me get weird about it...
It was Sam's turn to pick so Dean found himself at an art gallery slash museum slash what the fuck am I doing here type deals, feeling horribly out of place in his jeans ripped from work and not for fashion, his faded plaid shirt, and his rough, oil stained hands. While Sam seemed to be having the time of his life, the overgrown hippy nerd that he was, Dean was looking up at painting he was sure he couldn't even begin to fathom or appreciate to their full merit. Sam had this big fan boy hardon for some artist and his new exhibition though. Dean could care less but they had gone to a classic car expo last week so hoity toity art event it was, so like it or not, he might as well soak in some learning.
Sam was in his third year of college at Stanford working his ass off to become a lawyer while Dean barely graduated high school with a GED and owned his own garage. Both were as busy as life tended to make people to be. The two of them had almost lost touch completely due to their long work hours, different life directions, and 'out of sight, out of mind' mentalities. It took a forgotten Christmas at Bobby's, their adoptive father, and a whole lot of yelling on the old man's part to make the brothers realize what they were in danger of losing what little they had left. With their mother and father dead, Sam and Dean were each other's only real family so they resolved to fix this predicament by making plans with one another every weekend. Nothing huge or too time consuming. Sometimes they just went to a diner and caught up over some pie. They did that a lot when it was Dean's turn actually. Sam had insisted upon this cultural outing though so Dean had relented after some emotional blackmail and general teasing about his severe lack of culture.
The mechanic sighed, staring down the painting that he had been trying to make sense of for the last hour or so. The artist, one Castiel Novak, was famous not only for his work but also for his eccentric nature and his erratic art style. Dean had been able to gloss that much from half listening to Sam gush about the exhibit, but apparently the guy's breakthrough series, the one that had put him in the public eye, had been all about honey bees. Just bees, the artist claiming that they were the true keepers of the plans or something crazy like that. Complete whack job in Dean's humble opinion but what the hell did he know about art? He could fix an engine like nobody's business and restore a rusted out wreck to cherry condition again, but art? If theses painting were anything to go by, that kind of shit was way above his pay grade, fiscally and mentally.
Novak's newest series was one about angels or at least Dean thought it was. There were people with wings in them but they were doing things Dean was sure Sunday school never covered. In one particularly vivid paining titled 'Lucifer and Michael', two angels were either screwing each other, fighting, or both. Dean couldn't really tell. All he took away from the piece was that some one was getting fucked hard.
Another titled 'Anna' depicted a fiery red headed angel falling out of the sky as she tore out her own shining heart, and one named after the archangel Gabriel but for some reason showed a man with golden eyes and hair hiding himself behind the guise of a smiling fox as what looked like heaven fell all around him.
Dean flat out didn't like the painting denoted as 'Uriel', the angel's dark visage smugly staring down at him, his expression full of open loathing and disgust. Dean felt like he was being judged just by looking at it.
Only one painting in the room drew Dean to it and held his attention. It was bothering the hell out of him though, and he had no idea why. Dean sighed for what felt like the billionth time today, wishing that some part of him got art.
"Do you not like it?"
Dean almost jumped out of his skin, the low voice asking the question coming from a space right beside him. He turned around to find a man almost standing right on top him, shoulder to shoulder with him without Dean noticing somehow. The strange man with the personal space problem was dressed in a tan trench coat, which Dean found odd considering it was actually quite warm today, his profile solely focused on the painting before them.
"W-what? Why?", Dean stammered, wanting to move away but at the same time not wanting to let the other guy win. He was here first damn it and just that ridiculously stubborn.
"You keep sighing, Does the painting displease you?", the man reiterated his inquiry in a voice that seemed to be made entirely of whisky, gravel, sleep, and smoke, turneding his head to look at Dean straight on. This time, Dean did take a step back. The man's eyes were just that surreally blue.
"Um...no.", Dean wetted his lips, his mouth feeling almost too dry to do so. Crazy blue eyes the color of rare gems were set in a handsome face made of pale skin, full plush lips, and a strong jaw that was dusted with a five o'clock shadow. Dean didn't usually go for guys, but he was willing to make as exception for Mr. Social Awkwardness here. The guy's voice alone was doing wonderful things to the lower parts of Dean's anatomy, his penis definitely casting its vote towards lengthy foreplay with lots of dirty talk. Dean ignored that feedback as he tried to make his tongue work in his favor again. "I just don't get what the guy is trying to say, is all.".
The man seemed to take this throwaway statement into grave consideration for some reason, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side in contemplation. "Why should he being trying to say anything?", the man finally asked.
"Hell if I know, but what is the point of art if you're not trying to tell the world something?", Dean shrugged, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Sam would be able to argue his point of view eloquently but Dean didn't really want to get into an art debate with some random stranger no matter how good looking he was. Although when Dean took into account the man's ill fitting suit, dirty trench coat, and scuffed loafers, he concluded that the guy probably didn't know jack squat about art either. If anything, he looked like some tax accountant on his lunch break. It wasn't a lot to go on but it was enough to make Dean relax quite a bit. At least, they were on the same mental footing here. The man with the gorgeous blue eyes didn't look like he had a clue about this shit either, so where was the harm in talking about it?
"Ok, I get that he is trying to say something about heaven and hell, but seriously what is with all the angels doing weird ass shit? It's creepy, that's what it is.", Dean expanded a little on his point of view, looking around at the other painting before returning to his only one he could relate to. "This though. This isn't so bad. It's just sad is all, like the angel has too much heart or something and it's killing him bloody from the inside out. Angels aren't supposed to look like that, all human and shit.".
The piece that they were both contemplating was that of a seraph with black wings. The angel was crouched down with his wings unfurled around him like a shield against the viewer, trying to hide himself away as his hands clutched at his face like a mask as if in grief or despair. Whatever the artist had done or technique he used with the paint made the feathers look oily and wet, like they were just about to fall off of the canvas and stain the floor. The angel sat behind his wings, covered in their shadows, the only discerning features being the angel's eyes, the piercing orbs staring out through the web work of his fingers, wide and achingly beautiful in their sorrow.
Eyes so blue that they didn't seem real expect Dean had just seen them so he knew that they could exist. He had just seen them in the man he was talking to.
"Son of a bitch."
Backing away with a glare, Dean swore with feeling. "So how long were you going to let me make at ass out of myself?", he snapped, "And don't even think about playing dumb with me. That's you up there.".
"That was never my intention. I value honesty. Too many people though tell me what they think I want to hear.", the man said softly, not bothering to deny anything as he looked at Dean with those soulful eyes. "I apologize for my lack of introduction but I meant no deception.". Though the man's voice was a rough monotone, Dean found himself believing him for some reason. That alone kept him from storming off.
"Well, what do you want to know?", Dean said abruptly enough to make the artist jump, his brow furrowing in confused surprise from it.
"C'mon short bus, you said that you wanted to know something. Spit it out already." Dean elaborated.
"It is not of import. I have upset you. I will take my leave.", the artist mumbled, already starting to shuffle away. With a growl, Dean caught his arm, dragging the man back to his side.
"Don't be like that. I'm not pissed. My face just looks that way.", Dean snapped, reminding himself to take a deep breath and attempt to appear calm. This is why he preferred machines over people. A car didn't care if you were frowning or in a shitty mood. "Here. Let's start over. I'm Dean Winchester.". The mechanic held out his hand toward the artist who regarded it curiously. Dean tried not to grimace as he noted all the oil and car grime embedded into his skin, making the calluses of it gray. Lost in thought, he was surprised to see it taken by an equally dirty hand though this one was caked with paint in an array of rainbow colors in the creases and cuticles.
"Castiel Novak at your service.", the artist said as he jerkily shook Dean's hand, like he had never had the chance to do so before with another human being.
"Castiel. That's a mouthful. What do people call you?", Dean mused as he tried to reclaim his hand. Castiel didn't seem to want to give it up just yet, the artist holding it with both of his own now as he openly studied it. Dean smiled awkwardly at the other museum patrons as he felt his cheeks flush.
"Castiel.", the artist blinked in confusion. Dean barely managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes as he shook his hand gently free from the artist's grip.
"No, I meant for short. You know what? Never mind. I'll just call you Cas.", Dean said quickly, plowing forward with his usual amount of tact. It was about the same quantity that Sam was showing at the moment, Dean noticing his younger sibling staring at him slack jawed and wide eyed from across the room. Of course Sam would know who Castiel was, Dean grimaced, shooting him a glare. Castiel followed his look to stare at Sam at well.
"The giant over there with the dopey grin is my kid brother Sam. Wave at the confused moose.". Dean told the artist, careful to silently mouth the message of "Fuck off" to his brother while Castiel was distracted. Message was heard and receive when Sam returned it with furrowed brow and a bitchface but did Dean brotherly solid by staying away.
"Awesome. Now we all know each other.", Dean smirked as he watched Sam start a conversation with some short guy that looked oddly familiar to Dean for some reason. "So Cas, what's your question?".
"Will you model for me?", Castiel asked point blank.
"What!?", Dean squawked loud enough to be shushed by the other patrons, though he would fervently deny doing so later on.
"The bone structure of your face is one of the purest examples of the golden ratio I have seen in a long while. I would love to make you the focus of my next upcoming project or devote an entire series to you.", Casitel continued, oblivious to Dean's growing discomfort.
"Golden ratio? What the hell? Is that some sort of weird artist pickup line?", Dean mentally flailed about.
"What's a pickup line?", Castiel asked blankly.
"Are you fucking with me?", Dean glared to be met with more face of incomprehension. "Ok, I guess not."
"I would pay you for your time well.", Castiel added, making things go from bad to worse.
"Now that sounds practically indecent. Are you sure you are coming on to me?", Dean asked suspiciously, not that he really minded. He had already resolved to bed this strange man come hell or high water.
"I am offering you a job with minimal work and excellent pay. I do not understand why that would be considered offensive.", Casitel's brow furrowed as he frowned at Dean.
"You don't get out much, do you.", it was more statement than question on Dean's part.
"I must admit, I am not what you call a 'people person'.". Bless his baby in trench coat heart, Castiel actually used air quotes, making them a real thing with his fingers. It was all Dean could do not to laugh at the poor guy.
"I would never have guessed.", Dean muttered dryly instead, "Ok, so no bullshit. You just want me to model?".
"What else would I want you to do?", Castiel asked clearly at a complete loss.
Dean shook his head, laughter coming off of his lips low and light. "Nothing man. Never mind. You're a trip you know that?", he chuckled, "Ok DiCaprio, you can paint me like one of your French girls."
"I don't understand the reference.", Castiel grumbled, looking put out about it. He was sure Dean was making fun of him, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Castiel was well aware of his poor grasp on pop culture.
"I'm saying 'yes', Cas.", Dean rolled his eyes.
"Oh! Excellent.", Castiel seemed at a loss, the artist beginning to wander off again in his excitement until Dean snagged the back of his trench coat, tethering Castiel's ass to Earth again.
"You have to tell me when and where, fruit loop.", Dean grinned, loving Castiel's absent minded look of concentration. The guy looked like he was trying to take a poop, he was thinking so hard.
"Can you come home with me right now? That would be most convenient.", Castiel mentally regrouped.
"Don't you have to stay for the exhibition?", Dean asked, gesturing to the painting all around them and the people obviously waiting to speak with the artist himself.
"No. I've already seen it.", Casitel stated with a nod.
"Ok…..", Dean had no idea if Castiel was trying to funny or not, the guy said everything in that voice of his completely deadpan. "Well, do you want me to follow you in your car then?"
"I do not drive or own a car.", Castiel shook his head as Dean stared back at him in disbelief, his mechanic soul hurting from that sort of blow.
"So when you said convenient, you meant for you, as in you need a ride.", Dean sighed, catching up with Castiel's way of thinking.
"Yes. I do not care for cabs or any form of public transportation.", Castiel admitted softly as he leaned in toward Dean, like it was a huge secret, his deep voice lowering somehow to conspiracy type levels.
"So how did you get here today?", Dean whispered back, because he was genuinely curious.
"My brother drove me but is going to abandon me here.", Castiel said with a definite certainty.
"Abandon you? Wow, that's harsh. You said he is going to though which means he hasn't yet. How can you be so sure?", Dean asked.
"He only drives me to places such as this so that he can conquest my fans or the random art enthusiast. He was the model for the archangel turned Trickster piece.", Castiel sighed, gesturing to the painting. At that, Dean got a strange sinking feeling, though he couldn't quite put his finger on top of the source of it just yet.
"Conquest? You mean he picks up chicks.", Dean reasoned out for himself aloud.
"And men. Gabriel is quite promiscuous and surprisingly flexible when it comes to such carnal matters.", Castiel admitted easily.
"Dude, too much information. I didn't need to know that.", Dean winced.
"I thought you might though, considering that he is currently leaving with your brother, probably for multiple rounds of coitus.", Castiel pointed out, Sam leaving arm in arm with the short guy with the golden hair and eyes he had been talking to earlier and was now trying to climb Sam like a beanpole and suck his tongue out of his face.
"Son of a bitch!"